All That Glitters
by Storm-Horse101
Summary: The event which took place in Draco's third year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, forever referred to in the history books as " The Great Quidditch Incident of 1993", will eternally, no matter what happens in this world or the hereafter, be his worst, most embarrassing moment ever.


All That Glitters

Summary: The event which took place in Draco's fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, forever referred to in the history books as " The Great Quidditch Incident of 1995", will eternally, no matter what happens in this world or the hereafter, be his worst, most embarrassing moment ever.

_Black, everywhere, and what felt like a heavy weight pounding repeatedly against his forehead. _

Draco groaned loudly, impulsively moving one pale hand up to bat away whatever force was torturing his poor head. The result of this movement was the doubling of his pain, as his hand collided hard with what seemed to be (from the feel of it) an immovable wall of iron designed to snap even the most resilient of bones.

With a howl of pain, Draco sat bolt upright, his eyes snapping open, unconsciously cradling his wounded hand to his chest.

There was the unmistakable sound of footsteps hurrying toward him and, through his haze of pain, Draco mused that at least his injury had accomplished one thing; someone was coming to explain this whole damn situation to him, and, hopefully, make it better.

The appearance of the mysterious someone served to give Draco an almost certain idea of his location. A quick glance around confirmed it. _The Hospital Wing. _Now all that was left was to figure out how he got there, and why.

Draco massaged his sore fingers, and glared sullenly as the stout figure of Madam Pomfrey came to a halt in front of him.

"Are you alright, Mister Malfoy?" she asked, a bit breathless from what had undoubtedly been a hasty sprint from her office to Draco's bedside. "I heard screaming."

"No," Draco muttered morosely, brushing away the insult of his manly yell being referred to as screaming. "I bashed m' hand." His voice was slurred slightly from the combined factors of a headache and having just woken up. "And m' head hurts like the devil." There was silence for a few more seconds. "I think I'm dying," he added as an afterthought.

Madam Pomfrey rested a hand on his painfully sore forehead. "Your temperature seems normal." She felt his pulse, thankfully grabbing his intact hand. "And your pulse is fine. I think it's safe to say you're in no danger of departing this world." Her tone was crisp and businesslike, but Draco could sense an underlying layer of empathy. He latched onto that, playing it for all it was worth.

"It hurts!" he groaned, keeping his one hand pressed into his stomach, and moving the other one up to rest dramatically against his forehead. "Oh, the pain!"

The healer frowned sympathetically. "Would you like a pain-relieving draught?" she asked gently.

"No," Draco replied, trying for a brave smile. "If I'm going to die, I would rather have the pain to distract me from the distressing thoughts of leaving behind all who I love to make my journey to the next realm."

Madam Pomfrey's lips twitched in what Draco was sure was a gesture of appreciation for his great bravery in the face of such tragedy.

"Alright then. I'll leave you to it."

Draco's mouth fell involuntarily open as the Mediwitch sauntered away, apparently unconcerned for the unimaginable agony Draco was suffering.

"Wait!" he shrieked. "I think my loved ones would be glad that my last moments were pain-free!"

Ten minutes later, Draco was tucked into bed, pleasantly warm between the crisp linen sheets, hand and head both comfortably numb. His mind, free from the occupation of his wounds, was now focused on a vague memory, something about Quidditch…and falling. Draco only wished he could remember. If he was going to be stuck in the hospital wing for heaven knew how long, he at least wanted to know the circumstances leading up to his stay. _Quidditch…the snitch…Potter…_

His thought were interrupted as the door opened, and a high pitched squeal announced Pansy Parkinson's entrance into the room.

"Draco!" she shrieked. "I heard you were awake! But McGonagall wouldn't let me out of transfiguration early!"

Draco mentally murdered McGonagall for not keeping Pansy an extra hour. Then, for good measure, he killed off an entire town of innocent muggles. Damn it, he was trying to track down the reason for his near death encounter! He didn't have time for hysterical girls! Unless, off course, he realized, Pansy could tell him how exactly he ended up where he was.

"Does it hurt, Draco?" Pansy simpered, stroking his hand as she settled herself in a chair next to Draco's bed.

"Yeah," Draco replied. "But I can take it."

The look of concern didn't fade from Pansy's face.

"Draco," she whispered, avoiding eye contact, "I just want to let you know that none of us blame you for what happened." She paused. "Well…maybe some of the Quidditch team does, a little." Her voice shook, as the continued. "And Nott, and Zabini, and Greengrass, and…" her voice rose into a frenzied wail. "But I don't, not at all, Draco! It was a mistake, I know that! So please-"

"Pansy!" Draco interrupted, a slight feeling of panic writhing in his stomach, "is anyone, anyone besides you, that is, still speaking to me?"

Slowly, Pansy shook her head.

Draco hissed through his teeth. "My entire house is too furious to even speak to me, and I don't even know why!"

Pansy promptly went, once again, frantic.

"You don't remember? Oh, Draco! Madam Pomfrey said there was a chance you could have a concussion! Do you remember anything? What if this doesn't heal, and you never regain your memory? You could become an outcast! You could spend the rest of your life wandering the streets wearing nothing but sackcloth, begging money from muggles, while all your teeth fall out and you sit by the road chewing a corncob!"

Draco wasn't quite sure how she had come to that conclusion, and frankly, he didn't want to know. He was spared an explanation by Madam Pomfrey, who entered carrying a small stack of chocolate frogs and a card decorated in red and gold stripes.

"An owl just carried these to my door," she told him, setting them on a small table next to his bed. "Be careful not to eat too much at once, or you could make yourself sick." She excited the room again amongst a bustle of swirling robes.

Draco stared at the card in apprehension. Red and gold? It couldn't be good if Gryffindor was sending him a card. But, he thought, that card could very well carry the key to regaining his lost memories. Plus, Pansy was watching, and it wouldn't do to let her think he was too terrified to open a card. He reached for it, hands trembling. Pansy watched through wide eyes.

"Draco," she warned, in an annoyingly quivery voice. "I'm not sure it's safe!"

But he was at the point of no return. With a bold motion, he flipped the card open.

The sight that met his eyes left him with a feeling of overwhelming horror.

He stared at it, vaguely wondering how much a passport to Mexico cost, and if his father would give him the money. Surely, if he was unwilling at first, once he saw this he would be only too eager.

Memories came flooding back as the moving image burned itself into Draco's mind. He remembered the Quidditch game, Slytherin leading 50 points to 40. He remembered looking for the snitch, seeing a metallic glint, and diving. He recalled how the "snitch" had been hovering right by Potter's face, but yet the Gryffindor didn't seem to notice it. His fingers closing over metal, Potter yelling, his broom shaking as the Gryffindor tried to push him off, it was all there in his tortured noggin.

It was even worse viewing it on one of the infamous moving photographs of the Wizard World. He could see Potter's mouth forming words he, Draco, as the respectable heir of an ancient family, would be ashamed to say. He watched himself cart wheeling through the air as he finally lost his grip on the broom.

After several long moments, Draco's eyes slid down to message beneath the photograph. _Thanks for the laugh, _it read. The card was sprinkled with the signatures of what was probably the whole of Gryffindor house.

"The match," Draco asked, his voice hoarse and dead. "What happened to the match?"

Pansy stared at the ground, her voice trembling as the answered. "Madam Hooch was furious. She thought what you did was intentional. You were unconscious, so you couldn't tell her what really happened. We tried to convince her that you thought you saw the snitch, but she wouldn't believe us. In the end, Slytherin had to forfeit the match."

Draco felt numb. He swore he could feel his soul flying away from his body in a cloud of shame.

"You did, you know, think it was the snitch, right?" Pansy asked, hesitantly.

Draco nodded lifelessly. Automatically, he reached for one of the chocolate frogs, and dropped it into his mouth. The next thing he knew Pansy was screaming as Draco's nose swelled and turned into a tomato.

For the rest of the term, Draco had to endure glares from his housemates, and pointing and laughter from everyone else. He only survived by feigning an amnesia attack every time he had a class with Gryffindor, and therefore avoiding Potter. He was only too relived to exit the Hogwarts Express at the end of the year, making a beeline straight for his father. One glance told him that the elder Malfoy had heard of the embarrassing incident.

"So," Lucius began, upon reuniting with his eldest and only child. "I was informed of an rather interesting happening during the Quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryffindor."

"It was a mistake," Draco mumbled. "Anyone could have made it."

Lucius Malfoy raised an eyebrow at Draco, his mouth slightly twisted in a half amused, half-annoyed smile. "I doubt, Draco, whether anyone could have mistaken their opponent's glasses for the golden snitch, unless, of course, they were in rather desperate need of glasses themselves."

Draco glared sullenly at the ground.

"You would do well to remember," Lucius continued, "that all that glitters is not gold."


End file.
